


Facing the Raven

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Donna Noble impression, F/M, Mental torture sort of?, Mentions Of Past Characters, Spoilers for Face the Raven, Weird Shit, idek what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Raven will see you now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facing the Raven

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea. You can see where I start to forget my idea and write total bullshit which is why it is so fucking short. Mainly dialogue because I actually picture this like an actual scene lmfao. Has a script-y feel most of the time. I will end this properly when I have more ideas.
> 
> AU crap. Spoilers for Face the Raven.

A scream. So long, so loud, that it pierces the ears of every inhabitant in the Raven’s neighbourhood.

 

_Let her be brave. Let her be brave. Let her be brave._ A chant, a song, a melody in the Doctor’s whirring, screeching mind. To be proud of one’s lover should never be like this; one should be proud of their lover for getting a new job or saving a life or going through the torture of labour. One should not need to watch someone walk calmly to their death and feel pleased at their glory in accepting the fate before them.

 

The Doctor has experienced warzones before and this time, this companion’s untimely exit from his life, reminds him of a bomb. His ears struggle to catch up and it’s silent, so silent, yet so unbearably loud. It’s like when boiling water feels cold for just a second before the full agony hits you. His knees weaken, his frowning face crumbles and his hearts, quite abruptly, break.

 

_She’ll die on you, you know. She’ll blow away like smoke._

 

* * *

 

He disappears in a flash of crackling light to an empty room. Cold stone walls surround him, any chance of exit lost to a frame that holds no door and some sort of thick, black glass where proper windows should be. A small figure, draped in a black cloak, faces away from him. He stumbles, getting his bearings, and squints at the velvet as if it will provide answers should he stare with slits instead of wide-eyed wonder.

It had to be her, didn’t it? When the garment falls, she’s wearing her grey hybrid jumper and the same black jeans she so recently fell down in. But his first glimpse of her face sees black eyes and black breath. _It_ is a mode of transport, not Clara Oswald.

“Do I have your attention?” It asks, voice as soft and as sweet as the body’s true owner.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t. You. _Dare_.”

“Oh, Doctor. Doctor, Doctor, Doctor… She knows so much, doesn’t she? And now I know so much.”

“What are you? What could you _possibly_ be? I am grieving, I am a man on the edge. That is not a great place to stand.”

“Nosy parker, nosy parker.” The movement of the being resembles smoke, as if It’s a mere apparition. A reminder that he is powerless to stop the cruel taunts from his lover’s voice. Better that than no voice at all… “You know, Doctor, I’m glad I get her. Of course, I could have taken any of them. Claimed any face. But this one is special, with such a brilliant, big brain. She fills in the gaps. It’s a patchwork library, mind, but a library nonetheless.”

The ‘Clara’ that swims in and out of reality taps ‘her’ head.

“Why are you doing this? What could you possibly hope to achieve from getting me on your bad side?” His hand wavers in the air before him, joining the muscles of his face that quiver with anger and a surprising amount of fear. Fear for Clara. The Raven – what did it do?

“No weapons, just words,” It declares, swinging Its arms as It paces around him.

“…Martha.” His panic sees him spinning to watch the precise reaction and check for any signs of smugness.

“Jones. The woman who walked the earth. Thought I might take a leaf out of her book.” Though the spirit’s hands join, no clapping noise bounces around the room.

“I don’t understand.” Three simple words. A plea for mercy.

“You don’t tend to. Don’t worry, you’ll catch up.” Clara parades around him as his body sinks to the ground. If he is small, he is weak. If he is weak, It will stop. It has to stop. “We may not be able to kill you, my dear Doctor, but I have a deal with your enemies. The whole murder thing just never works… but making you into something else? Now, that could be quite special. A real madman.”

It’s not the most ingenious plan he’s ever heard and yet it makes sense. It’s started. The worst possible torture could never be physical for no weapons are worth a damn. But words, memories? You could kill a man with his broken past.

The figure flickers and he reaches to touch Its foot. Her foot.

“Susan! Peri, Adric, Tegan, Ian, Barbara-”

“Shut up! Don’t try it. Don’t even try.” Names can’t hurt him. Stories can.

“Clara Oswald.” The hand of the aforementioned punches out and twists, as if a knife finding home. “Straight in the heart! There we go. Dead Clara. Dead little Clara. The stupid impossible girl. She’s pretty, isn’t she? Did you look?”

His heavy breaths come out in puffs that It won’t see, for he is quite firmly fixing his eyes on the floor. _Don’t look at her._

“Rose Tyler.” The action from before is repeated. It takes on a comedic American accent. “Look here, folks! A broken man! What d’you do when your hearts just ain’t working like they should? D’you forget?”

“Stop it...” Everything he’s lost recently, all fresh and sore and still healing, is coming to the surface in great pools of red blood.

“She forgot, didn’t she?” Clara’s voice is back. It bends, as if tending to a child, with her kind smile and natural tact. “Donna Noble.”

Everything strikes a chord, yet this is different. Donna doesn’t have the sort of protection the others have – if their heart is no longer beating it need not matter and if they are alive they have a greater chance of defending themselves. Donna will die at the mere knowledge of her secret past, as if it’s her own ghost street.

“Should we call her? ‘Donna, hi! Doctor, TARDIS, Davros, Master, Martha, Rose, Agatha Christie, Charlie Chaplin, friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton’. Would she remember?” The smirk she gives is far from his Clara that he hurls in the opposite direction, sickened by the abuse and torment. “’My head, my head!’”

“Get out.”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” He murmurs, only half wanting It to hear. Humouring it can’t be good.

“Doctor.”

“Doctor Who?”

“Good question! Clara won’t open up, that’s the problem. Stinking, rotting little corpse and she’s keeping it all to herself.” The creature’s frustration, as is visible in the twitching of Clara’s pretty mouth, is a blessing.

“…Because she’s brave. Clever, beautiful, wonderful. And if there’s any chance that she’s in there, alive, I want her to know that. You just tell her. If she’s dead, tell her! Send my thanks and my highest regards. And know that you will never, ever break me… And if I’m even half the man she is, you won’t have the slightest chance with her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. I'm really proud of some of this. Might add more?????


End file.
